Luminous
by lumpragamuffin
Summary: ON HIATUS - When Draco Malfoy is on the run during the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts, he encounters Harry Potter who is surprisingly willing to help. AU HPDM slash
1. On the Run

Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.

Warning: eventual slash in this story

Just a few things to say before the story:

1) This story is told from 1st person POV, but it alternates: Draco's perspective in the odd chapters; Harry's perspective in the even chapters.

2) I'm an American. I tried to keep it to Brit slang and spelling, but if I mess up, do let me know. I want it to be believable, so help me keep out my silly Americanisms!

3) If you notice elements of my story that are a little too similar to other stories you've read, please tell me. I tried to make sure that everything was original, but sometimes I think I've had a great idea, when I've really just unknowingly remembered someone else's great idea. I don't want to plagiarize, so feel free to comment and refer me to other stories if you're worried.

Hope you enjoy it!

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Chapter 1

How I found myself in this extreme situation, I don't know. It's not as though I had planned to fight against my own family or to run from the people I had previously known as allies. But that's exactly what I was doing: running. I was running from my life as it should have been. To this day, I don't know exactly why I ran, but I did, and I guess that's all that really matters.

I was running, rather wildly I might add, through some nondescript muggle village. Were I not being chased by vicious Death Eaters who were sent to claim my life, I would have felt ridiculous and ashamed. Malfoys don't run. I was born into aristocracy, and say what you will, but I was above such plebeian behavior. Nonetheless, I ran. And I must say, I was pretty good at it. Maybe it was my Slytherin nature at work – my cunning and deviousness – that had protected me for the week and a half prior to that last day of running. I hid and outran the Death Eaters I had previously known as brothers with ease for nearly ten days. But they had finally caught up to me and I knew it was the end.

Why didn't I just conform to the Dark Lord's wishes? It had nothing to do with any sympathy for muggles or mudbloods. I hated the lot of them.

No, when it really came down to it, I suppose my deadly sin was pride. I was too proud to bow down to that ghastly creature that my own father worshipped. Let's just say that the Dark Lord's grotesque frame did nothing to quell my already forming distaste at the idea of devoting myself to him. But, even had his appearance not been so disfigured and generally ucky, I still wouldn't have kissed the hem of that "man's" robes.

I, Draco Malfoy, would not lower myself to anyone. I would never cower and I would never beg, and if I died because of this, at least I would die with my pride.

Well that's what I kept telling myself when I realized that it was the end and I was about to be captured by the Death Eaters. I had finally worn myself down from lack of food and sleep. I had been making mistakes for days, and I knew it. One of those morons must have picked up on one of them, because here we were: me running through this dumpy muggle area, hoping against hope that the Death Eaters had been ordered to be discreet in their capture of me; and they were right behind me, tracking me like fowl or boar. Well, let them try. I wasn't going to give up without a fight. I know it sounds cheesy, but I've always been fond of my given name – I like to think that I have the qualities of a dragon: vicious and unrelenting.

So I ran like crazy, trying to keep my surroundings in mind, but having a bit of trouble nonetheless. This is why, upon seeing Harry Potter's shocked face, I assumed that my perceptions were at fault. Maybe I had been more sleep-deprived than I thought? No. It was definitely Harry Scarhead Potter looking at me confusedly as I ran.

I suppose he expected me to stop and explain myself, because he looked even more thoroughly astonished when I did not slow down to chat. What a prat.

He liked to be on top of things, that self-righteous Potter; he just always has to know what's going on. I think maybe that's why he chased after me then. It was just my luck, right? First, I had a horde of blood-thirsty Death Eaters after my life, then, I ran into the only person on the planet that is higher on their list for capture. I know, I know. Being Draco Malfoy, I should have gone on and sacrificed that little lamb of a boy-who-lived, Harry Potter, so that I could have escaped, but really, I wasn't that bad of a guy. Sure, I tormented the git constantly at Hogwarts, always trying to humiliate and one-up him. Okay, I should admit it: I hated the idiotic four-eyes. But even being the hateful Slytherin that I am, I wouldn't sacrifice another, even damn Harry Potter, just to save my own arse. What was I coming to? I might as well have been a Hufflepuff with that sort of behavior.

"Potter," I shouted, "get the fuck away from me!"

His response was indignation. Right. He's chasing me down a street, I tell him to leave me alone, and _he's_ indignant. Just like the stuck-up egomaniac he is to react that way.

I stopped so I could quickly convey the severity of the situation. "If you don't want to die, scarhead, I would suggest that you bugger off as quickly as your scrawny arse can."

"Are you threatening me?" he questioned in response.

"You wish, Potter," I sighed, "I'm currently being chased down by a few of the Dark Lord's henchmen, but I doubt they'd even give me a second look if they see you standing here beside me."

He paused, "… They are chasing _you_? Why would they chase you?"

I answered sarcastically, "I dunno, Potter. I mean, I'm such a fun, loveable guy, right? I'm glad that you see this, but unfortunately the Dark Lord has missed it. Either way, I'd love to stay here and chat about how wonderful I am, but I'd like to continue my life a bit longer than the, oh, three minutes it will take for them to find us in the middle of the road here." I never said I wasn't melodramatic.

Potter blinked. "Oh," was all he spoke. Then the unfathomable git grabbed my arm and dragged me into a close-by alleyway.

"Why the fuck are you grabbing at me?" I screeched at him. Have I mentioned that I have a tad bit of Veela in my family line? I know – it's rather prestigious. It adds to the beauty and charm that come so naturally to me. I don't shift into that nasty screechy thing that full Veela morph into, but I suppose I have retained some of the same mannerisms they exhibit when angry. It's the trade-off: intense beauty for an ugly temper. I take it whole-heartedly.

Anyway, Potter looked a little taken aback at my reaction. "I'm trying to help you," he answered, frustrated.

I hadn't realized until that point how completely trusting the guy was. I looked into those freakishly bright green eyes of his and I could tell that he was entirely serious in his answer. He really intended to help me and didn't seem to doubt my candor about the situation at all. This probably should have made me feel some sense of comfort or gratitude, but instead, it made me angry. Angry and jealous, I should say, if I'm being honest; but I'm seldom honest, so let's just leave it at angry.

This guy really was dense if he thought he could trust me, Draco Malfoy. How did he know this wasn't a trap set up by the Dark Lord? So I said as much. "Are you daft? Why would you trust me not to be capturing you? I hate you," I spat at him.

Potter merely rolled his obnoxious eyes. I hated those eyes: garish, bright green and covered by those horribly unfashionable glasses. Did he purposely try to look like that? Does he enjoy standing out and looking awkward?

"It's obvious you are telling me the truth. You look like you are about to keel over right at this spot. Also, when I saw you running, you looked like you had a demon at your tail. You can't fake that look of fear, Malfoy."

I hated that guy. Did I mention that? He always knew just what to say to poke holes into my pride. He ignored my obvious distaste at his words and continued his rant.

"Anyway, we need to hide. Do you know how far behind you they are?" Just as he spoke these words, we heard them. The Death Eaters were near and getting nearer every second. They were calling my name, taunting me. "Come here, little Malfoy. The Dark Lord isn't too pleased with you, you spoiled brat!" one of them shouted out from just down the street.

Potter cursed. I had never heard him curse until that moment and it was odd from his lips. It made me want to laugh. I definitely must have been low on sleep. We were about to die and I was going to have a giggle-fit!

"Fuck. Malfoy… too tall… hmm," he mumbled looking around us at the alley. He seemed relatively calm at the situation, calculating even. Maybe he really was a hero and I was just too self-centered to realize it during those previous years at Hogwarts. Why wasn't he trembling and going into hysterics like I was? Probably because I hadn't slept or eaten properly in a number of days. Yes, that must be it.

"You have to sit down right there," he pointed at a spot along the wall of the alleyway, "tuck your knees up close to your body," he kept explaining while putting himself into an identical position right next to the spot he motioned for me to take, "and sit as close to me as possible."

"Why should I trust you?" I knew he was telling me the truth. The golden boy would never lie or hurt someone else, even someone he hated, even me. But that didn't matter to me. I grew up with the notion that you could only trust yourself. Never put your life or possessions into someone else's control.

At first he just stared at me like I'd grown two extra heads and started reciting _Hogwarts: A History_. Finally, after hearing the Death Eaters growing dangerously close to our alleyway, he hissed at me, "You have no choice, Malfoy, trust me or get caught and die!"

Okay, so he had a point with that. After teetering there, not wanting to be saved by the hero-boy-who-lived, but not wanting to get caught by those disgusting slaves of the Dark Lord, I finally realized I was being ridiculous. Of course I didn't want to die.

I gracefully – I'm always graceful – dropped myself into the spot next to Potter, situated myself as he directed, and looked at him expectantly. If he didn't get us out of this, I would personally kill him… just before the Dark Lord killed me.

Potter grinned. And, I couldn't help it, my mouth turned up into a half-smirk. I hated Potter. Why was he so infectious? I had the distinct desire to punch him, but decided to put that off until after he saved me.

He quickly yanked out some silvery thing from his pocket, then, just before the Death Eaters rounded the corner, he threw it over the both of us. He had covered us in an invisibility cloak, I immediately realized. I _knew_ he had one. I just knew it. I couldn't prove it for the longest time and it drove me insane, but I knew it. I always thoroughly enjoyed being proven right.

One of the Death Eaters did a cursory check of the alleyway and quickly moved on. "He's not down here," I heard him share with the others who were still on the main street. He had a heavy, dark cloak on, so I couldn't tell who it was, but I recognized the voice faintly. I guess it should hurt that someone I knew had no problem hunting me down to have me killed, but I never trusted any of the people that I or my parents associated with, so it really didn't bother me. Well, it mostly didn't bother me.

We sat there under Potter's invisibility cloak for a good while after the slimy servants left. Scarhead seemed to be concentrating very hard: probably listening to make sure that none of them had lingered near our hiding spot. I was too tired to listen for anything and was actually rather thankful to let someone else do it for a change, though I never would have told him that.

He turned to me with a huge, lopsided grin on his face. "I'm rather certain they're gone, so… er, I think we can get up now?" He looked down at us sitting there and it was only then that I noticed our close proximity. His face was right next to mine – his breath was warm on my cheek. The right side of his body was pressed quite firmly into the left side of mine. I could even smell him, he was that close. And surprisingly, he didn't smell rotten as I often assumed. Can you blame me for thinking that he'd stink? I mean, he looked as though he never took any interest in his own hygiene; his hair was always a mess and his clothes constantly in disarray. It was a significant part of my upbringing to take my appearance seriously. If I didn't look like I deserved respect and admiration, who would give them to me? Well, anyway, he wasn't rotten; he actually smelled surprisingly good – clean and woodsy, but in a fresh and enticing kind of way. Whoa, did I think that? I _definitely_ needed some sleep.

I immediately jumped up, out from under the invisibility cloak and looked down to where I knew he was crouching. He got up a little slower, stretching his body out as he stood to his full height. We were close in height, Potter being slightly shorter than I was.

Hah! Well at least I had _something_ on him.

"Do you think they will come back this way?" he asked me.

"I'm not sure," I responded. "I know I need to keep running though… we've been at this for a week and a half now. They're finally catching up to me." I was stressed. Very stressed. I rubbed the back of my neck with one of my hands.

He looked contemplative while studying my face. I'm not sure what it was that he was trying to see, but he must have found it, because he suddenly said, "You can hide with me." He sounded confident and decisive. Final. I hated that.

"Why would I want to do that, Potter?" I scoffed.

He rolled his eyes again, "it would be the safest place for you."

"Oh yeah. You have wards protecting you at your muggle family's home, don't you?"

He looked confused, probably wondering how I knew that. "I've overheard some information around the Malfoy Manor…" I mumbled. I hated feeling ashamed of who I was. It was a horrible feeling and I seemed to have it much too often around our-savior-Potter. Even more reason _not_ to follow him to his home… though I was rather curious about it.

"Right," he responded, "well, you should come with me. It's your best bet. The Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself won't find you there."

I flinched just a tiny bit when he said the name out loud. Was he trying to seem brave or did it honestly not scare him to say it? I couldn't help it: my respect for him increased at least a little in that moment.

I couldn't have argued with his logic, and even if I could have, I was too tired to anyway. So I agreed to follow him to his muggle home.

"Hmm… put this on," he said while tossing the invisibility cloak to me. "I guess I should hold your arm or hand or something," he added.

"What!? No way, Potter. I don't want to hold your hand whether I'm invisible or not!" Again, can't help the melodrama.

"I just want to make sure you don't run off with my cloak, Malfoy," Potter snapped.

"I'll do you one better," I clasped his right hand with mine, "I swear I will follow you to your home and return your invisibility cloak to you." My Wizard's Vow would force me to follow through.

He looked appeased, nodded his head, and quickly turned to peak out of the alley. He turned back, and since I had already donned his cloak, he couldn't see where I was. "You there, Malfoy?"

"I'm right behind you, scarhead," I quipped.

He grinned, "try to keep up!" And he was off, running down the street at full speed, dodging through alleys and jumping over trash bins. Even in muggle suburbia he looked purposeful and heroic. It was amazing how awkward he was in conversation, yet so subtly talented in everything else. God I hated Harry Potter.

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So… what do you guys think? Please review and tell me! I've already written the first eleven chapters of this. (There will be a total of twenty-seven chapters and I have them all planned out somewhat specifically.) But if you guys have any requests, I might be able to squeeze some things into the story.


	2. Home Sweet Home

Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.

Warning: eventual slash in this story

A/N Just wanted to give a reminder: odd chapters are DM POV, even chapters are HP POV. So this chapter is from Harry's perspective!

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Chapter 2

"Malfoy?" I whispered, "You still there?"

"No. I ran off to grab those Death Eaters so we could all ambush you. Yes, I'm still here, you moron!" he snapped.

He sounded exceptionally tired, which made me feel a tad guilty. He was being rude, but really, when was he not rude? I should have gone a bit slower taking him home since he was obviously exhausted and malnourished. I couldn't remember him ever looking so unkempt. He had looked like he was withering away when I found him in the street by the alleyway.

"Are you alright?" I asked the empty space behind me.

"I'm fine. Let's go." I disliked the terse command, but complied anyway.

We were at 4 Privet Drive; after a few more steps, we'd be inside. I never imagined I'd escort Draco Malfoy into the Dursleys' home. It felt odd and surreal to have him, invisible, following behind me. I just hoped that no one would notice my entrance; that way I could get Malfoy up to my room without any trouble. Of course, I wasn't so lucky.

"BOY!" rang out from the otherwise silent household as soon as I walked into the entryway. I could handle my uncle's displeasure at my existence, and I could handle Draco Malfoy's taunting, but I didn't know how well I could handle both at the same time.

"Yes?" I tried to answer as innocently as possible.

Vernon Dursley lumbered down the hallway like a rhinoceros. He glared at me, waves of angry heat rolling off his large body. His eyes turned into slits that made his face look a bit comical – as though the only features to his face were the intense ruddiness of his skin and the large, black, twitching moustache. I honestly wasn't sure why he was angry, but then, he didn't always need a reason.

"Where have you been!?" he shouted at me.

"I was out on a walk," I had learnt very early on that succinct answers were the best ones when it came to the Dursleys. Come to think of it, they were the best type of answers for most people I wasn't close to. Though I guess I'm not really the talkative type in general.

"Exactly! Gallivanting around Little Whinging like you own the place! I am sick of it. I will not have our neighbors seeing you about. This family cannot risk being associated with your abnormality!" a vein in his neck throbbed threateningly as he yelled at me.

"I do not gallivant," I responded in a low voice.

"You most certainly do, and I will not put up with it any longer! Your aunt and I took you in when nobody else would; we have fed you and clothed you –,"

"barely," I interrupted

"Don't you talk back to me!" he screamed into my face. It was then that I remembered that Draco Malfoy was standing, invisible, behind me. I had forgotten that rather quickly; I guess I had gone into the defensive against my uncle and overlooked the more important situation at hand.

I realized I needed to shorten this as much as possible and get upstairs to my bedroom. "Alright, I'm sorry. I will stop gallivanting."

"I do not want you to set foot outside unless I say otherwise."

"What!?" I shouted back. I had been going out most days, walking around the village on my own. I rather enjoyed the quiet and it helped me to be moving, to be doing something more than just sitting in my room. I hated the idea of confinement. I felt trapped, caged, like an animal.

"You heard me, boy! No leaving the house."

Normally I would have argued, threatened, done anything I could have to avoid this punishment, but with Malfoy just behind me, I ignored it and moved on. My uncle looked as though he wanted to continue yelling at me, but I guess he finally decided not to; he was pleased to see me looking so defeated.

I climbed the staircase to my bedroom, skipping the squeaky step out of habit. I was halfway up the stairs when Dudley came pounding down them, pushing me to the side and laughing the rest of the way down. I hoped he didn't accidentally knock Malfoy down, but assumed he hadn't, because even with Dudley's immense weight, he probably would have at least noticed that.

I opened the door to my small room. I didn't ever feel a sense of peace or comfort when returning to this bedroom. My dorm at Hogwarts was a safe-haven for me. It was a place that I could rest and be myself; it was somewhere I could be with my friends. This place was a glorified prison cell. It would probably feel even more so now that Malfoy was to share it with me until he could be moved elsewhere.

I left the door to my room open a few extra seconds – probably longer than necessary – to make sure that Malfoy had come in too.

After shutting the door, I sat on the edge of my bed. I ran my fingers through my hair, which was a mess as always.

I felt worn down. Why did these things always happen to me? What was it about being Harry Potter that nothing could ever just remain normal for at least a few minutes? I decided to stop my pity party and looked up to see Draco Malfoy watching me, curiosity clear on his face.

He threw my invisibility cloak at me which I caught in my right hand. "You didn't need to give it back to me so quickly," I told him.

He blinked, "Yes I did."

Now I was the one looking at him curiously.

"Potter, I made a Wizard's Vow. It drove me to complete our agreement. I was compelled to give that back to you. Did you not know?" He didn't seem to be taunting me this time. He honestly wanted to know if I hadn't realized.

I felt stupid. When would these sorts of things stop happening to me? All the time I felt as if I was caught between various multiple worlds, not fully understanding any of them. I didn't answer him since he could probably tell what the answer was anyway. And to my surprise, he smiled. It was the first time I had seen Draco Malfoy genuinely smile – not a smirk, a sneer, or a fake smile to mollify a professor.

"You trusted me to bring your cloak back to you with a mere promise from me?"

"I guess so," I replied. I didn't want to talk about it any longer. It wasn't helping my exhaustion and I was starting to feel a little sick to my stomach. I walked across the room to my desk. "I think I'm going to write Dumbledore and tell him about the situation," I motioned my finger between the two of us when I said, "situation." He nodded and laid himself down on my bed with his hands laced behind his head. He looked oddly comfortable on my bed. On any other day, the idea of that would have made me laugh, but right now, I just ignored it and took my quill to parchment.

I briefly explained the circumstances, asking for his help. I hoped he would be able to collect Malfoy quickly. I assumed he would hide him in Hogwarts or the Order's headquarters. Either way, I knew that Dumbledore would know exactly what to do.

I tied the letter to Hedwig's outstretched leg and petted her while giving instructions for the delivery, "This is for Dumbledore. Try to be discreet, okay?" She nipped my finger fondly before taking off out of my opened window. I watched her as she flew away. She always looked so majestic in flight. I kept watching until she was too far away to see. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair again.

I looked over toward my bed. Malfoy was lying in the same position as before, staring at the ceiling. He looked lost in thought.

"I'm going to get some extra blankets from the linen closet. I'll be right back," I told him quietly.

I only took a couple of minutes in the hallway, trying to get the comfiest blankets since he would be sleeping on the floor. My floor was a rather hard and cold.

And it looked as though _I_ would be sleeping on the hard, cold floor.

When I walked back into my room, I found Malfoy snuggled deeply into the covers in _my_ bed. His eyes were shut and he was curled up into a comfortable position. It was odd seeing him in such a vulnerable state: it made him look sweet, almost angelic.

I must have been more tired than I previously thought!

I fluffed my stack of blankets into the best arrangement I could manage. After getting into my make-shift bed, I quickly fell asleep, my only thought before drifting off being, 'happy 16th birthday to me.'

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I just finished writing the twelfth chapter! Yay! I will probably post each next chapter every time I write a new one so I can keep myself ahead.

I love switching perspectives every chapter. (Though I must admit that I have more fun with the Draco chapters… which is why there will be twenty-seven chapters to this story: I have to end on a Draco one!) I try to make Harry more externally focused whereas Draco is more self-absorbed. What did you guys think? Please review!


	3. Dumb Luck

Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.

Warning: eventual slash in this story

A/N Thanks for the reviews!

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Chapter 3

So what I was promised was a place that I could relax and get away from those damned Death Eaters. Alright, maybe I wasn't promised that, but I assumed that I would be getting at least a little peace and quiet. After being on the run for slightly less than half a month, I wanted some down time. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is. I was rudely awakened by being shoved at and having that invisibility cloak – I was still thrilled at being proven right on that, by the way – thrown over my body. I clung to it, using it as a substitute blanket. I peeked up to see Potter at his door with his revolting uncle in the landing outside the room.

I checked to make sure the cloak was fully covering me and got up from Potter's bed, then walked over to the other side of the room so I could better see the interaction in the doorway.

"- not allowed to leave the house," I heard Potter's uncle grumble.

"I remembered," Potter answered.

"And don't think that I won't know otherwise while your aunt and I take Dudley out for the day. You keep put," the purple-faced cretin demanded.

"I understand."

Potter's uncle pulled his large brows together in a mixture of what seemed to be confusion, irritation, and suspicion. "What have you been up to in here?" he asked. His voice was accusatory.

"I haven't been _up to_ anything" Potter responded, equally irritated.

The walrus-of-a-man scowled past Potter, examining the small room. He looked right through me in his scrutiny. It was a strange feeling, to have someone look through me rather than at me; it was as though I wasn't there at all. It increased my already hefty displeasure at the man. While I wasn't sobbing about the fact that Potter was being maltreated, I didn't think it right either. No matter who the wizard in question was, I couldn't help but feel some bit of annoyance when a muggle did not give him the proper respect he deserved.

"Something's off," the ugly man muttered. I felt the childish urge to stick my invisible tongue out at him. It could have been his large, ruddy face, or maybe his ridiculous belief in his own superiority to Potter – a wizard – but either way, I distinctly disliked the man and wanted him to leave my presence as quickly as possible.

I was lucky, because his equally repugnant son chose that moment to call out to him, "Dad! Hurry up, I want to go now!"

Walrus-man shot one last menacing glare at Potter before leaving. The scarhead shut his door and pierced the room with a sharp gaze. He was probably trying to see me. Idiot.

"Malfoy?" he asked, walking to the bed and gently putting his hand down where he expected my shoulder to be. Or that's what it seemed like from my perspective across the room. I wondered whether I should take advantage of this situation and have a little fun. It was a very quick thought process for me: of _course_ I would have fun with Potter blindly trying to find me, his worst, well okay, _second_ worst enemy in his own invisibility cloak in his own bedroom. I was pleased to finally have an outlet for my scheming, Slytherin side; all the rest of my focus during the summer had been on surviving. It felt good to be back to my carefree, malicious self. Taunting Potter was one of my favourite things in the world.

I decided the best plan of action was to let him think that I ran off with the cloak. I didn't care if he realized that I was faking – that I hadn't left the room at all; I wanted to make him squirm and I was quite sure that either way, he would.

I could only see his profile from where I was standing, but from what I could tell, his expression was puzzled. He glanced around the room, looking as though his confidence level had decreased. Potter looked unsure of himself and the situation.

Brilliant.

Potter continued to glance around the room, assessing it for something. He looked toward the window that was cracked open a few inches, toward the door that he had shut just a moment before, then along the walls of the room.

He took two swift steps toward his desk… toward me. I darted out of his range as expediently as I could manage. However, it worried me that he might have been able to hear my movements since I was hasty in my avoidance of him.

He grinned. I wanted to smack that self-assured grin off his handsome face. Handsome? Yes, I had to admit that Harry Potter was handsome, but only in a ruffled, unkempt sort of way. It was more of a sexual appeal than true beauty. He was definitely not as beautiful as say, I – Draco Malfoy.

He turned in my general direction. Damn! How did he know where I was? I managed to keep myself very quiet while I walked backward, out of his reach. Just as I thought I was far enough away and silent enough in my backing that he wouldn't be able to find me again, he pounced forward and grabbed the front of the cloak, yanking it down from my body.

"Sod off!" I shouted at him. I was furious. Why did he always ruin everything for me?

"You're just mad I caught you," he laughed. His lopsided grin had grown larger. I hadn't thought that feasible.

"You cheated," I grumbled. I hated losing at anything and it seemed I lost at everything when Potter was involved.

"Of course not." His eyes gleamed behind his ugly glasses.

He must have cheated. I wasn't that noisy. I'm a sneaky Slytherin for Merlin's sake! "It's your glasses: they've been charmed to see the invisible, right?" I had to figure this out.

"Nope… but that's a smart idea. I'll have to ask Hermione about it," he replied.

Of course the imbecile wouldn't have been able to work that out on his own: all he had on his side was dumb luck. Maybe that was it? "It was luck then!" I shot at him.

"You think finding Draco Malfoy in my bedroom is lucky? You're more full of yourself than I thought," he quipped with a smile still playing on his lips.

I could hear the Dursleys getting into their car now. I watched through Potter's window as they drove away.

"So are you going to feed me, or what?" I changed the subject because I was certain he wouldn't tell me how he caught me. I would have to wait for an opportunity to get the information out of him. Maybe I would discover something I could use as blackmail in his room. That definitely sounded appealing.

"Right," he looked slightly guilty. Did he feel guilty that I was hungry? Damn Gryffindors are so caring it's sickening. At least it would lend for easier manipulation.

He tossed the invisibility cloak at me, "keep it with you in case they come back," and led the way down the stairs to the kitchen. It was disgustingly obvious that the house was owned by muggles. I had never seen such a magically lack-luster abode. Of course my upbringing forbade me from associating with muggles at all, but that is not the point. The important part is that the house was stiflingly dry of magic. It felt dead. I would have gone crazy living there and it was a wonder to me that Potter had managed to keep his magic intact while living in that house for the ten years after his parents died. At least the place was spotlessly clean. _That_ was something I could appreciate.

"Your home is atrocious," I drawled rudely. I enjoy the sound of my voice, so I tend to elongate my words to make sure that everyone around hears all that I say, particularly when I am complaining.

To my surprise, however, instead of being offended, Potter just laughed, "I'm glad someone agrees with me on that, even if it is you." It irked me that he was always so positive and cheerful. He had nothing to be happy about and yet he always had that stupid grin on his face. I assumed it was too much self-confidence on his part: he saw himself as some absurd savior of the wizarding world when he really should have just minded his own business. His self-concept was obviously inflated by all that.

I sat down at the table while he made us breakfast. He adroitly worked his way around the kitchen: frying, flipping, toasting, buttering, and pouring. I ate every bite of the food he made for me, and it was surprisingly satisfying. I couldn't remember the last meal I had eaten that hadn't been cooked by house elves, so I assumed Potter's cooking would be inferior to what I was used to. I was wrong, I will admit.

He watched me with amusement on his face while I voraciously shoveled food into my mouth. Normally I would abhor such behavior, but I had been starving, literally. During my run from the Death Eaters, I only had the chance to eat a couple of measly scraps here and there.

"Shut up, scarhead, I haven't eaten in many days," I snapped in between bites.

He smiled warmly, "You should try to eat a little slower then so you don't end up getting sick."

I hated getting advice. I considered myself independent and self-sufficient, and definitely _not_ in need of help or guidance. I ignored him and continued to devour my plate.

As soon as I finished, he grabbed all our dishes and washed, dried, and put them away. As I watched him do this, I realized that my stomach was, in fact, starting to hurt. I conceded to myself that maybe I should have eaten a little slower. I didn't admit that to _him_ though.

I leaned back in the chair and stretched my body out. He turned back to me and quirked his eyebrow up, but said nothing for a few minutes.

"I suppose you should bathe now since everyone is out at the moment."

I hadn't even thought of showering in days; that is just how low I had gone in my hiding from the Dark Lord. I was disgusted at myself and hurriedly ran up the stairs to take a shower.

Where had Draco Malfoy gone? Being in that muggle home, acting as a completely different person, it all felt surreal. I showered slowly, trying to find constancy in something about my life, even if it was only the feel of water flowing down my lean, beautiful frame.

* * *

Draco Malfoy is so much fun!


	4. Traitor

Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.

Warning: slash (meaning boy on boy action for those of you who are out of the loop)

Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Chapter 4

I didn't realize one could shower for so long without having drowned until I sent Malfoy up to bathe. I had been standing in the corridor with some spare clothes to lend him for half an hour when he finally strolled out.

"What are _those_?" he asked rudely, towel around his waist.

I glared at him. Why was he so offensive when I was only trying to help him? Well I wasn't going to have it. I tossed the clothing at him, "Go naked if you'd prefer. I just thought you'd like something more than those rags you came here wearing." The things he had been wearing before the shower really were just a couple of dirty rags, though they looked as though they had once been his usual expensive attire. He must have worn the same outfit the entire time he was escaping the Death Eaters.

He rolled his eyes and took my clothes. I went back to my bedroom and decided to write letters for both Ron and Hermione. Hedwig hadn't yet returned from her trip to Professor Dumbledore, but I wanted something to do that could distract me from the annoying arsehole that was Malfoy.

I was halfway through my letter to Ron when Malfoy came sauntering in – which was extremely funny since he was wearing my oversized, hand-me-down, muggle clothing. He seemed unable to drop his regal demeanor, even then. I laughed out loud.

"It's not as though you look any better!" he shot at me.

"That's. not. what I'm. laughing at," I could barely get out since I was falling over myself laughing as he stomped his foot on the ground.

"Fuck off, Potter," he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

After that, we passed the day in mostly amicable silence. He made the occasional insult, but it always sounded half-hearted. He spent the day reading my Potions textbook to prepare for sixth year while I did various normal things, generally ignoring him. I finished my letter to Ron and then wrote one for Hermione, refinished my broomstick with my broomstick care kit, cleaned up around Hedwig's cage, made us food when I heard Malfoy's stomach rumbling again, and started working on some of my own work for sixth year.

I realized something then, "Malfoy?" I said to get his attention.

"Yes, Pot-head?" he drawled. I actually kind of enjoyed his drawl.

"How will you afford Hogwarts this year without your parents?" I questioned.

He delicately picked at his nails while answering, "The Malfoy fortune is not controlled by my parents. All Malfoys, Malfoys by blood mind you, have access to the Malfoy vaults in Gringotts. Although I suppose it would not be wise of me to be visiting the vaults since that is to be expected. There could be a Death Eater waiting there for me, of course. I brought some gold with me when I ran, so I have that for the mean time; either way, Severus will help me if I need more."

"Why would he help you?" I asked in return.

"Because he is my Godfather and he is the spy for the muggle side," he sneered.

"He told you that?" I was surprisingly interested. I had never trusted Snape and it was odd to me that anyone else could.

"Of course he didn't tell me that. I found out through my own cleverness, obviously."

"Right," it was my turn to roll my eyes.

I yawned and looked at the clock. The day had passed rather quickly, to my surprise. (I expected any time spent with Malfoy to be slow and torturous.)

"I'm heading to bed then," I told him. He was currently sitting on said bed and made no motion to move. "That means you need to get off of it," I stated bluntly.

He smirked with a raised eyebrow, "I'm not sleeping on the floor."

"Yes you are."

"Make me," he challenged.

So I did. He was definitely a tad bit taller than I was, but I was slightly bigger. This was partially because he was half starved, so maybe that's what gave me the advantage. But maybe it was because I had the element of surprise on my side.

Either way, I lunged at him, toppled him over, and shoved him onto the ground. His butt made a loud and comical _flomp_ noise as he landed on the floor.

He stood up, looking imperious as he did so, and tried to leap back onto my bed. Over and over he tried this, however, I was too quick for him. I pushed him back every time, and just when I started to get too tired to continue, he flopped down onto the make-shift blanket bed that I had set up for him.

"I hate you," he hissed.

I laughed in return. He was always so sour when he lost.

I guess I was worn out at our little scuffle, because I fell into a deep sleep rather quickly.

But I suddenly found myself in a musty corridor and I couldn't remember how I had gotten there.

It was dark, so I couldn't see much around me, but it didn't seem there was much to see: I was in what looked like a dungeon. I didn't dwell in the musky corridor for long though. I felt to my core that something was wrong, that I had something important – more important than anything – to do. I briskly walked toward a large wooden door. I could hear some sort of commotion on the other side. I leant my head against it – it was quite cold.

"-become my servant, Draco," I heard a man hiss. I knew that voice: it was a voice with the blackest of intents. My entire body felt rigid just hearing his icy tongue.

I listened as hard as I could on the door, "I will," I heard Draco say. Voldemort responded with a maniacal laugh.

"As I expected." I heard a pause, then, "Crucio!"

Draco Malfoy's screams reverberated down the dungeon. It was gut-wrenching, hearing Malfoy crying so desperately. I desired more than anything to stop those screams, to release him from that pain.

Unsure of my plan, I burst through the wooden door into the dank dungeon room where Voldemort was torturing my school-yard enemy.

Voldemort looked up at me when I ran in, "Aha – so Harry Potter has finally arrived. Are you here to rescue this traitor, perchance?" he grinned malevolently.

Malfoy was sobbing on the ground. His face was whiter than I had ever seen it and covered in a gleam of sweat. He looked on at me with fear clouding his eyes. His limbs were sticking out at odd angles, yet he seemed too injured and worn to correct his position.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Harry Potter, but _this_ traitor must be punished for his treachery. Draco Malfoy must die," Voldemort's eyes glinted with excitement as he raised his want, "_Avada Kedavra!_" he shouted, wand pointed straight at Malfoy's heart.

I screamed as the bright green light lit up the dungeon.

"Nooo! God no!"

I awoke with Draco Malfoy nearly on top of me. He was shaking my shoulders in a frenzy, his stormy, grey eyes wide with fear. I was painfully reminded of his petrified last look at me just before…

"Potter, wake up!" he pleaded. It sounded like he had been repeating that phrase for a bit now. My scar was pulsating madly. It felt white-hot – it was almost blinding me.

"I.." my voice was hoarse, it felt like from screaming. "I'm awake," I croaked.

Malfoy still looked apprehensive. "You scared the shit out of me, scarhead," he was breathy with what sounded like relief.

I winced from the pain coming from my "scarhead" again.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I was embarrassed and wanted to just forget about the nightmare. But it wasn't just a nightmare, was it? Why would my scar hurt if it wasn't real? It obviously wasn't real: Malfoy was fine and right in front of me. I couldn't take my eyes off him though. It was silly, but I was afraid he would disappear into that chilly dungeon if I wasn't careful to keep close contact with him.

"Are you alright?" he asked nervously. I must have really scared him if he was nervous. Malfoy rarely acted anything but self-confident when talking to me.

"Yeah," I replied, but I didn't motion for him to move away from me. Instead, I held his eyes with mine. I noticed that one of his hands was still placed on my shoulder. It felt warm, comforting. I couldn't let what happened in my dream become reality. "Are you alright?" I asked him carefully.

He smirked a little, "I wasn't the one flailing around, screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night, Potter. You're weirder than I thought. I dream about butterbeer and cauldron cakes." It was surreal to hear him joking when I could have sworn he was dying just a couple of minutes prior. I preferred a joking Malfoy to a tortured one, however, so I settled for staring at him a bit longer.

His eyes were surprisingly more subtle than I had ever given credit for. They were a gloomy gray, and it was like looking up after rain: there were mostly swirls of bitter clouds, but mixed in here and there was just a speck of sky blue. It was easy to become absorbed in Draco Malfoy's intense eyes.

He started to look uncomfortable, so I looked away, but remained in the same half-sitting position I had adopted upon waking.

"Well," he looked around the room, trying to find a focus for his speech, "I'm going to try to get some more sleep now that you are done shouting."

I let him crawl out of my bed back down to the floor, but kept my eyes on him. I could tell when he fell back asleep since his breathing evened out into a heavier, slower pattern.

I didn't go back to sleep that night.

Instead, I watched Draco Malfoy until the sun rose, just to make sure he was still there.

* * *

Yeesh… I wanted to put this chapter up a couple weeks ago, but I have been so busy with midterms! Luckily my last one was today, so I have ample time to write now - as long as I don't get lazy, that is.

(I've written up through chapter thirteen so far, but I don't want to post more until I've written more so I can stay ahead.)


	5. Don't

Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.

Warning: slash (meaning boy on boy action for those of you who are out of the loop)

* * *

Chapter 5

I decided to give Potter a break. After the odd... incident of the previous night, I didn't really want to bother him. The creepy, crazed look he had on his face when he woke made me shiver a bit. To add onto that was the much worse look of desperation. And worst of all, I had never seen Harry Potter looking so helpless and afraid. The look didn't suit him: he looked much more attractive with his usual, good-natured, lop-sided grin. Well, anyway, I had been a bit nervous toward him after that. I didn't want to cause any more grief than was necessary, so I minded my own business as much as I could the following day.

At one point, however, I couldn't help myself.

"Why did you refuse me, four-eyes?" I demanded.

He looked terribly confused. He was so thick it was almost cute.

"What are you talking about," he asked back.

"Our first year, you dolt – why did you refuse me on the train?" I couldn't even say, 'refuse my friendship.' I didn't want to say it out loud for some reason. I hated feeling pathetic like that, but there it was. I just had to ask him.

"Oh," was his infuriatingly unresponsive response. He looked a tad nervous, his eyes darting around at anything but me. "Well, er.."

"Spit it out then," I urged aggressively.

He looked directly at my eyes now, "You reminded me of Dudley."

"I… your… Your disgusting elephant of a cousin!?" I shrieked. Ach hem – small part Veela. Anyway, my angry side took control of me. I have a pretty bad temper, I should admit. I rushed the moron; he was just standing there, staring open-mouthed at me.

I wanted to hurt him. How _dare_ he compare me to that repulsive boy? I shoved him as violently as I could; he fell backward onto his bed, but his head connected with the wall with a great _smack_.

I felt as though everything had slowed down – I could almost see the individual strands of his dark hair moving up as his body fell down awkwardly. His eyes were shut and he didn't cry out in pain as I had expected.

Oh shite. I had really hurt him. Damn it, this was the opposite of what I had intended. I didn't want him to be knocked out: I wanted to cause him pain for a good while longer than that!

Oh no.. I knocked out Harry Potter. Not good, definitely not good. How would the whole side of the light take it if I seriously injured their idiot-savior-boy? Dumbledore would smite me at my attacking his golden boy and I would be ousted from both sides. Everyone would be out to get me. Not good.

Potter just lay there, looking oddly peaceful with his eyes shut like that.

I scrambled onto the bed and pulled his shoulders up so I could slip my hand behind his head: I had to check for a gash. There wasn't a big gash, only a small cut, but I felt a smidgen of sticky blood on my fingers. Brilliant – that was just brilliant.

"Oh God, Potter. Wake up, wake up, wake up! Oh fuck. You just see, this is going to cause me so many problems. You take me in and I repay you by knocking you out – really shows my great character and all. I'll be welcomed with open arms and everything having hurt the entire world's savior. _You_ would probably forgive me, which is sort of ironic, I know. Oh hell this is bad. I'm sorry, Potter, just wake up!" I shook him a little while rambling. This was distinctly reminiscent of last night's episode – something I had gone through great troubles all day to avoid. "Please, Potter. Oh Merlin. Who knew, right? The Dark Lord's been trying to get to you all these years: he should have just hired one Draco Malfoy to have a temper tantrum at you."

He shifted slightly and half-opened his eyes. He was grinning. The arse was grinning at me!

"Fuck off!" I shouted at him, furious. I backed myself off his bed toward the other side of the room.

He laughed. How much had he heard of my rant?

I was humiliated, and when I'm humiliated, I get angry. We were back to square one: I was irate and wanting badly to take it out on him. "This wouldn't have been a problem if you weren't so bloody delicate! You're always collapsing at everything like a woman. Maybe if you had a father you would have learned to be a man!"

That caught his attention. His eyes had been bright with mirth, but in the time it takes to blink, he snapped. His eyes turned dark and furious with an anger to rival my own. He got up and stalked over to me. In all honesty, he was terribly frightening. It was not an enjoyable experience to be on the opposite side of his rage, but I gave no hint at my anxiety – I stood my ground. He got so close to me, our noses were almost touching.

"Don't," was all he said. He was definitely not a master of language, but that one word alone instilled quite a bit of fear in me.

I pressed on in spite of it. "Don't what, little orphan boy?" I asked with mock sweetness.

I could feel magic swirling around my body. It was leaking out of him jerkily. He was having difficulty controlling himself.

"Get out," he commanded coolly.

At this point, I was quite willing to comply. I turned away from him and walked to the doorway, fuming.

I prepared myself at the door, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and put my hand out for the handle. I would have to get back to my hiding from the Death Eaters and since I was better fed and rested, I might have some more luck for the next week or so. I would have to be very clever this time and-, suddenly I felt the warmth of a hand on my shoulder. I turned my head and found Harry Potter's bright green eyes boring into my own gorgeous gray ones. He no longer had the look of pure rage; in its place was a resigned expression.

"Don't," this time it wasn't an infuriated command – it was a plea. He wanted me to stay.

I can't really explain it, but at that point, something between us changed. We were no longer enemies forced through circumstance to deal with one another. I could see in Potter's eyes that he wasn't asking out of guilt. And I didn't say yes out of fear for the Death Eaters. We genuinely wanted to become friends.

This time, Harry Potter was the one asking me for my friendship, and I didn't refuse him.

* * *

It's a short chapter, but I think it's an important turning point. And I promise that there will be some slashyness coming very soon. This story is intentionally slow in their relationship development. But personally, I think that makes it better when it finally happens!


	6. Strange Life

Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.

Warning: slash (meaning boy on boy action for those of you who are out of the loop)

* * *

Chapter 6

I didn't know exactly why Malfoy had spent most of the day in silence, but I hadn't complained about it.

After our fight though, he wouldn't shut up. I guess he assumed since we were on friendly terms he could interrogate me about anything he wanted.

"So these muggles don't treat you very well, I've noticed," he pointed out after his barrage of overly personal questions. (These questions ranged from, 'How did you get so good at Quidditch when you were raised by muggles?' to 'Why is the Dark Lord so bloody interested in killing you anyway?') Strange… I know. How was I to answer questions like that?

"They aren't fond of the wizarding world," I answered him.

He gave an un-Malfoyish bark of a laugh. "I noticed, Potter," he had quit using his obnoxious nicknames for me, favoring my surname instead. "But that's what I don't understand about you. They treat you like the dirt beneath their feet and yet you still defend muggles and mudbloods every chance you get. Why do you even care? You have even more reason to hate them."

I scowled at him.

"Muggle-borns, then," he rolled his eyes while correcting himself to appease me.

"Not all muggles are like my family. Just because I had the bad luck to be raised by them doesn't mean I should take it out on the rest of muggles. My mum was a muggle-born…"

"Right, but, not helping is not the same as taking it out on them. Why do you go and risk your neck for them? That's what I don't get," he looked puzzled. His delicate blonde eyebrows were scrunched in confusion. It was an endearing look on his typically condescending face.

"It's the right thing to do, you know?" was all I could think to say.

"No. I think, what it really is for you, is that you have some hero-complex. You just have to rush in and save the day. Why it is that you have that complex is the more interesting question though. Do you like being the centre of attention?"

"No," I replied, slightly irritated. I hated when people told me that _I _liked attention when I never sought it. I hated being looked at like an animal in a zoo. I suppose I subconsciously pressed my hair down over my scar, because when I looked back up at him, he had a triumphant smirk on his face.

"You hate people noticing you, don't you?"

I averted my eyes from him.

"Of course. This is classic. You are an honest-to-gods hero and you hate the attention. I never really noticed it before. It's sickening, how _good_ you are," he scoffed, but his expression wasn't sickened. He seemed to be contemplative. "You don't like your scar," it wasn't a question.

"No," I replied. I was silent for a few seconds, unsure of what else to say until I blurted out, "I hate when people stare at it and don't even acknowledge the rest of me. It's like a constant reminder that I lived when I should have just died," I didn't finish the sentence, 'along with my parents,' as I wanted to. It was too much. I refused to meet Malfoy's eyes. I had never directly talked to anyone about disliking my scar and it felt odd that I was finally doing so with someone who was supposed to be my enemy. This was a conversation I should have had with Ron or Hermione, or better yet, no one.

"I like it," he said quietly. I looked up at him then. He was watching me intently. I think he wanted to make sure I knew he was being serious, that he wasn't mocking me. It was hard to tell when Malfoy was being honest, but he seemed to be genuine at that moment, so I believed him.

I'm not sure why, but just hearing and believing those few words put me in a great mood. My face broke into a grin.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

Luckily, our conversation was then interrupted by Hedwig. I heard a light tapping noise and looked up at my window to see her poking her beak on the glass so I would let her inside. Once she flew into the room, she landed on my desk and held out her leg. Finally I had gotten Professor Dumbledore's reply! It had only been a couple of days, but I had started getting worried: running into Draco Malfoy being chased by Death Eaters just a few streets from my house seemed like a big deal to me. I fed Hedwig a few treats while reading his note:

Dear H,

It's lucky that you found your classmate before the others did. Unfortunately, I have nowhere to keep him until Hogwarts reopens next term. I'm sorry that I have no alternative solution. I know this puts an extra strain on you, but I believe that the boy will be safest in your home. I ask that you house him there until the school year starts.

Albus Dumbledore

That was all he had to say? I was waiting for a solution, and he had none. I wasn't angry at Dumbledore, merely surprised that he didn't have a better housing situation in mind. Couldn't Malfoy have been sent to the Order of the Phoenix hideout? To Hogwarts? His letter had been so vague that I had to assume he was worried about interception of his message. I wondered how bad things were getting in this war.

"What did he say?" asked Malfoy.

"You're staying here, apparently."

He arched his eyebrow in a slight gesture of surprise, but said nothing in return. He went back to reading one of my schoolbooks I had ordered for next year – it looked to be my Defense Against the Dark Arts book.

"I guess it won't be so bad: I mean, we only have a couple of weeks before the start of term and I can be rid of you," I teased.

He sneered in return, "Can't wait."

After letting Hedwig rest for a bit, I sent her out with my letters that explained my current situation to both Ron and Hermione. I wondered if they'd take it like I was making a practical joke. It all sounded quite strange. Of course, what about my life wasn't strange?

* * *

So I didn't get any reviews for the last chapter.

-Sad-face-

But I think people will like the next chapter!


	7. Wandering Minds

Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.

Warning: slash

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews for the last chapter! It definitely brightened my outlook on this story a bit.

attagrl: Nah – there won't be a trip to the Burrow. I like D/H spending alone time at Privet Drive anyway. :P

Black Diamond07: While I definitely love a vengeful Draco, I think he's still too selfish at this point to do anything nice for Harry. But maybe I could sneak some vengeance in later in this fic. –evil-grin-

Kisa167: It will take a while for that. But it will happen eventually!

* * *

Chapter 7

I hate to admit it, but living with Harry Potter wasn't so bad. Actually, it was almost pleasant. A few more days had passed since we heard from Dumbledore and I found that Potter was unpredictably thoughtful at times. I wasn't accustomed to being around someone who wasn't scheming for domination. In Slytherin, even those I was on friendly terms with weren't "friends" so to speak. There was always an agenda. They were housemates, followers, and allies, nothing more. Harry Potter wasn't this way. He never tried to get anything from me. It was all an odd learning experience. Disconcerting, really.

He bought my schools supplies! Not only that: he bought me clothes. _Nice_ clothes. My usual attire. I was disturbed that he had done this as I hated owing anyone anything, but I knew that with Harry Potter, he didn't expect that I owed him for the favor. Infuriating. Charming. I couldn't decide.

I very quickly became accustomed to life at Potter's home. We swapped sleeping in the bed every night – Potter was into the "fairness" thing. It wasn't my forte, but I dealt with it since he didn't expect anything else of me. I suppose it was a relief not having to conspire for what I wanted, not having to worry about how to manipulate Potter. He was straight-forward: he asked for what he wanted and gave me what I wanted when I asked. It would have been boring if I hadn't had so much fun incessantly teasing him.

You'd think it would have been awkward, but it really wasn't. He was around me constantly; he almost felt like a spirit following me about. Even when we weren't talking, I could smell him on the clothes that I wore and in the sheets in which I slept. I was continuously surrounding by Potter, but I loved it. I secretly swooned at his scent. It was amazing, enticing, entrancing: a clean, musky fragrance. When I knew he was asleep, I would pull the sweater of his that I was wearing up to my face and breathe in his scent, cherishing it.

Oh sweet Merlin. I was attracted to Harry Potter. How had I not realised this sooner? I was mortified. It couldn't have been happening. There it was though. I glanced over at the scarhead. Most of his face was hidden behind a Quidditch tactics book. His fringe was swept over his forehead, partially covering his glowing, emerald eyes. I was tempted to push it back so I could better see those eyes, so I could outline his lightning scar with my fingertips. He noticed my staring and looked up above his book. He gave me a quick and cheerful grin, and then went back to his reading. His lips were a bright red. I wanted to slip my tongue in between those rosy lips. I wanted to move my mouth on top of his and feel him against me – I wanted to smell him, feel him, taste him.

I wanted to kiss Harry Potter. What the hell was coming over me? I could feel a pink blush tint my cheeks.

It wasn't as though I hadn't already known I was gay. That wasn't the problem. I mean, anyone who took one look at me could see that I was beautiful. Even straight men could see that. Well, it hadn't been hard to find willing boys to experiment with, so by then, I definitely knew that I was a fairy. But Harry Potter? What sort of twisted irony was it that I was developing a crush on the Boy Who Never Seemed to Die? He was definitely not a guy that I should be attracted to. He claimed to be straight, and worse, he was a Gryffindor!

It was stifling, shameful, revolting. I was disgusted with myself. The boy gave me some clothing and food and I fell all over myself for him! I decided that I had to stop being such a girl. I needed to revert back to my cold, calculating self. I would not talk to him unless necessary and I would not continue this friendship. I would use him for shelter until back at Hogwarts, then I would force him out of my life forever. I congratulated myself for a plan well-formed. Then, I continued on throughout the day ignoring him as much as possible.

He tried a couple of times to start up conversation, "I'm not used to you being so quiet, Malfoy." I shrugged.

Finally, after many hours of this, he seemed to become curious at my transformation. He was sitting at his desk, watching me as I studied Defense Against the Dark Arts. (My desire to learn such material had increased drastically due to my recent turn-coat behaviours.)

His eyebrows were knitted in a slight frown as if he was working out an equation in his head.

"Is there something going on?" he questioned.

How could I be attracted to such a dense boy? It was beyond me to understand the workings of my own hormones.

"No," was my cold response.

He tilted his head. Adorable!

"No? Why aren't you talking my ear off then?" he smiled. Oh I wanted to just walk right over there and lick his pouty lips. NONONO! This needed to end.

"I'd like a shower." A cold shower, more like. I jumped off his bed and walked toward the door.

"What's going on?" he refused to let me get my way it seemed.

"Nothing, you moron, I would merely like to shower!" I was getting frustrated.

He stifled a chuckle and stood up, stretching a bit before walking toward me. Oh my: seeing him stretch out his body like that was so very alluring. I couldn't help but picture stretching him out beneath me. He would arch himself against my body as I rocked us back and forth. I would grind…

I needed to calm myself down before this ridiculous attraction became more apparent. I didn't think it would go over well if he noticed me staring at his lovely body while getting an erection. I looked away.

"Come on, really, what's wrong with you? You usually spend all day talking to me. Something's bothering you, I can tell," he pressed on.

He didn't want me to ignore him. It displeased him. I could have leapt with joy. Of course, Malfoys don't leap… nor do they feel joy. But I was definitely excited that he cared about what I did – that he cared whether or not I was friendly toward him. Perhaps there would be no harm in entertaining some small fantasies. It's not as though I _had_ to enact them.

I smirked at him, "You're such a woman, Potter. I'm fine. Except that I smell: I want a shower."

He rolled his eyes, "You don't smell. And I think _you_ are the woman around here; you're so obsessed with your own body."

He didn't think that I was smelly! Okay, so that wasn't a compliment by any means, but at least he didn't think badly of me. Well, of course he didn't. Obviously. I mean, I was stunning.

"Right, well, that would be rather difficult right now, I'll have you know. The Dursleys are all home at the moment, and my cousin is in the room across from this one. I think he'd notice if no one went in there then had a nice long shower. My muggle family doesn't take well to invisible people."

"I want a shower," I repeated.

"You're impossible," he complained, irritated. "Alright, fine. You're not going to like it though."

"What?" I was quite curious now. What wouldn't I like about taking a shower?

"Well, I could get you in there, but I'd have to stay in the room, pretending to be bathing myself. You could just wear the invisibility cloak, follow me, I can wet my hair in the sink while you take a shower and no one will know the difference."

That plan was incredibly… hot. Did he know of my desiring of him? Was he just taunting me about it all? I didn't think I could handle being entirely naked, wet and naked, with him standing merely metres away from me. He wouldn't be able to see me in the shower or anything, but just him being there, in the same room. Merlin, that would be too much for me.

"Sounds good," did I say that? I couldn't help myself. My perverted fantasies took over my mouth it seemed. I wished they would let my mouth take over his mouth. Take over his neck, his chest, his stomach, his co… oh Merlin this was bad.

He grabbed a change of clothes and handed the invisibility cloak to me.

"Er… g-guess we should go then," he sounded nervous. I loved hearing his nervous stammer. Delicious.

I threw the cloak over me, making sure all my limbs were covered, then followed him.

He closed the door after I walked into the bathroom. I handed him the cloak, trying to seem nonchalant.

He turned around to give me some privacy, "Go ahead then," he muttered.

I turned the shower on and looked back over at him to see if he had peeked at all. He was still looking away, so I discarded all my clothing. My hands were trembling slightly, I loathe confessing. My entire body felt taut with excitement. I kept my eyes on his back as I walked into the shower. It didn't matter that I was naked and should have felt cold outside of the shower – my body was burning, on fire. I wanted to take all of _his_ clothes off; I wanted to pull him into the shower with me so that our bodies could burn together.

But I didn't. I was a good little Slytherin and kept my hands to myself. I was horribly tempted to put my hands _on_ myself. I was turned on and ready to go and would have loved nothing more than to wank myself under the steamy showerhead, thinking about the boy who was so close yet so far. I was afraid that he'd hear me though and I didn't want to scar his delicate sensibilities, so I tried my best not to touch my stiff cock. I flicked at it a few times, hoping it would relax, but it was useless, so I just scrubbed my body.

One of my favorite things in life was feeling the hot water of a shower rolling over my tense shoulders, loosening the muscles under my skin. I almost moaned as relaxation overtook my senses. Oops.. maybe I did let out a little moan. Great – now Potter would think I _was_ wanking off when I really wasn't!

I poked my head out of the shower to see what he was up to. He was at the sink, splashing water over his face and hair. Our eyes met in the mirror that was in front of him. His face was a deep shade of red; he looked sexy when he was embarrassed, I noted happily.

It was then, seeing my own reflection in his mirror that I realised that almost my entire torso was exposed. Luckily, everything below was hidden. This was _very_ lucky, in fact, since my – ach hem – excitement had not yet fully gone away.

His blush deepened as he looked at me in the shower. I gave him a cheeky smirk, then popped back in, shutting the curtain around me. He was embarrassed at having seen me partially nude? This was wonderful news. Or maybe bad news. Maybe he thought me hideous… impossible. I am strikingly beautiful. No one, not even arrogant Harry Potter, could see anything less in my appearance.

Maybe it was a bad thing because it was encouraging my fantasies, I thought to myself. Well… that's not _such_ a bad thing.

So I let my mind wander to the boy standing in the same steamy room in which I showered. I pictured him lying on that small bed of his, entirely naked, eyes darkened with lust, looking up into my beautiful face. I pictured myself kissing and licking lines down his chest, swirling my tongue around his red nipples. I was certain that his nipples were red; they had to be. I would move my hand down his waist, slipping my fingers into his pants, unbuttoning in a fury. He would groan into my shoulder as I moved my thumb over his head, slowly and gently sliding it over him, again and again.

I realised that I had started doing just what I had forbidden myself to do: I was wanking to Harry Potter when he was steps away from me! What had come over me, I don't know, but I needed to finish this one way or another… and I definitely preferred one way over the other.

I bit my lip, thinking of Potter below me, his own lips parted in a magnificent moan – a moan meant only for me, and I felt my body jerk. It was rapturous, heavenly, beautiful. I swallowed my own groan in my throat, not wanting him to notice what I was doing… what I was doing to imaginary-him, more like.

My body relaxed when I finished. I leant against the cool wall that was beside me, giving myself a few seconds to recover, then quickly cleaned myself under the water, shut it off, and prepared myself to step out.

"I'm coming out now, Potter," I whispered. Rather ironic wording, no?

"I know," he whispered back.

I opened the curtain to find his back to me and a neatly folded towel just next to where I was standing. I quickly dried myself off and wrapped the towel around my waist.

"Where are the clothes then?"

He turned to me, still beet-red, and handed a pile of crumpled clothes to me. He looked fairly uncomfortable and seemed to be trying to keep his eyes on mine and nothing else.

How had I never noticed how unusually sexy Potter was? His messy hair was perfect for his face which was masculine and angled. His eyes were such an amazing shade of green: they were so bright that you couldn't notice any other color when he was around – blinding almost, but in a beautiful way. His nose was small, but straight and flawless. His lips were perhaps the most tantalizing I had ever seen – they begged for me to lean in and capture them with my own. He would look almost cherubic with his pale face and dark, curly hair, if he was slightly less masculine, that is. Instead, his looks came off as an erotic casualness. Just watching him was an erogenous experience for me.

He turned his back to me once again so I could have some privacy while changing. Such the gentleman, Potter was. I never would have given _him_ such privacy. Of course I seemed to have developed a perverted infatuation with the boy, so maybe we were in different boats.

I took my time putting the clothes on, threw the invisibility cloak over my squeaky-clean body, tapped his shoulder, and whispered, "I'm done now, let's go back."

He jerkily nodded his head and led me back to his bedroom. Strange behaviour. I merely hoped to Merlin he hadn't noticed my… momentary distraction in the shower.

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I wrote this chapter maybe a month ago, but I remember enjoying writing it quite a bit. I hope you enjoyed reading it as well!


	8. As Expected

A/N I am really sorry that this took so long for me to update. I feel even worse since this chapter is rather short. The next one is too… The worst part is that I already wrote this chapter months ago. I've just had troubles finishing up chapter sixteen (which, by the way, you guys will lurve!), and so I haven't wanted to update my old chapters. Plus my life has been so hectic lately, I haven't had the time nor the energy to work on this stuff.

My profuse apologies!

* * *

Chapter 8

The days at the Dursleys had slipped by. For the first time since I had started attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I was nostalgic about my summer. It had felt as though I was trying to cup water in my hands to make it last just a bit longer, but no matter what I did, everything fell through the cracks, quicker and quicker.

Having Draco Malfoy, my supposed enemy, to spend all my time with alleviated some of the loneliness that I generally felt in that house. We had become something like friends during the last month. I wasn't sure how long the camaraderie would last, but I enjoyed it while it did.

But the summer was over. It was September 1st once again and I had a taxi scheduled to pick up me and, unbeknownst to the Dursleys, Draco Malfoy. We would be off to Platform 9 ¾ and, after that, I had no idea what Malfoy would be to me anymore. I wasn't even sure if we had really been friends during the previous month.

So I felt a little solemn when I loaded our things into the taxi and held the door for an invisible Draco Malfoy to get into the vehicle.

Once we got to London and unloaded our things, Malfoy was able to return my invisibility cloak to me.

"I'm going to miss using that, Potter," he gave his trademark smirk, "I enjoy having people unable to see what I'm doing."

I let out a half-hearted laugh. So he wasn't planning on being friendly with me once we were back to Hogwarts. That's what I had expected, but it stung a little to comprehend the reality of it.

We heaved our luggage toward King's Cross Station together.

"Potter," Malfoy paused. "I think… I think it would not be wise for us to be seen together."

As expected, as expected, I repeated myself in a futile attempt to keep the sting away.

"Er, right then. You go first."

He nodded and walked away. Almost as soon as he had gone I heard the shout, "Oh, Harry!"

I turned to see the entire Weasley crew walking in my direction. Mrs. Weasley was the one who had cried out my name. She ran to me and gave me a slightly embarrassing mother-hug. I smiled, glad to see some of my favorite people in the world. I felt a bit more cheered as Ron came to greet me: he patted me on the back and had a huge grin on his face, "Great to see you again, mate!"

I had told him about my Malfoy-situation in my letters during the summer. His family had been in hiding – many wizarding families who were known supporters of muggles and muggle-borns had gone into hiding as of late – so Ron had some difficulty keeping a correspondence, but he had written back a few times in the past month.

"Where's the git, then?" he muttered under his breath.

I grinned. "He's ahead of us, wanted to get right to the Hogwarts Express, I think. How was your summer?"

Ron talked at great length of the growing danger for wizarding families on the side of the light. Apparently Voldemort's influence had been increasing while I was shut off from the rest of the wizarding world. I tried not to think too deeply on that as we walked as a group toward Platform 9 ¾.

Once we all discreetly strolled our way through the invisible barrier, I glanced around to try to catch a glimpse of a certain blonde, Slytherin boy. He was nowhere to be seen, so I continued my search for my best friend – aside from Ron, that is – Hermione.

I was stunned when I located her walking toward us: she had unexpectedly become rather gorgeous. Her previously frizzy hair had been smoothed out into neat waves and she was wearing rather attractive muggle clothing. She even seemed to be wearing a touch of makeup – lipgloss and eyeliner perhaps? I didn't know very much about makeup, but something was definitely different with my best friend. She looked put together and confident. Ron was practically drooling at my side. Unfortunately for him, so was every other male in the vicinity.

I suddenly felt quite thankful that I only saw Hermione as a close friend (or even sister-figure). While Ron and I had gotten through many disagreements before, I wasn't sure our friendship could have survived _that_ sort of issue so easily. It was obvious to me that they were crazy about each other, but they always seemed to miscommunicate and fight.

It wasn't any different that day.

Dean Thomas stopped Hermione before she reached us. Always the confident boy, it was obvious he was complimenting her. I couldn't see much of the interaction, but as she turned to walk toward us, he pulled her back and kissed her hand as a parting gesture.

Her face was bright pink when she turned again and finished walking our way.

Ron's was a brighter shade of red.

She pulled me into a quick hug, which made me feel slightly awkward, then went to hug Ron until he backed away, "I don't think your _boyfriend_ would like that."

"Boyfriend?" she asked. She seemed to be trying to hold her temper under control – her voice had a façade of calm, but underneath it, I could hear thunder rumbling.

"Yeah. Boyfriend. Dean over there couldn't get his hands off you. Didn't even have the decency to tell Harry and me about it before we had to witness that," he stalked off, still red-faced.

She sighed, obviously frustrated. "I suppose you should go off with Ron then," she muttered.

I felt split, but since she told me to go, I assumed she wanted to be left alone.

I was wrong: when I walked after Ron, I heard her make a frustrated _hmph!_ noise.

I never understood girls.

Ron was just boarding the train when I caught up to him.

"You could take it easy on Hermione, Ron. It's our first day back…" I told him.

"She deserved it!" he grumbled.

"Alright," I sighed. It looked like this would be a long train-ride back at this rate. "Did you want to get a compartment, then?" I asked him.

"Oh. Well, actually, I have to go to the prefects' compartment," he looked guilty as he said this.

"Right. Er, I'll see you in a bit then," I responded.

I found a compartment with Neville, Luna, Ginny, and another girl that must have been a first year. I roughly shoved my luggage above my seat, sat down, and tried my best to pay attention to my classmates' conversations.

But all I could focus on was the fact that I felt surprisingly lonely since Draco Malfoy and I were no longer almost-friends.

* * *

I hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment after all that waiting. The next chapter is an in-between sort of thing as well, but it REALLY picks up during the tenth chapter, I promise!

And you know what? I will also promise you guys that I will have chapter nine up within the next few days. I give you my word as a Spaniard. Okay, I'm not a Spaniard, but it's a good line, yeah?


	9. A Smidgen of Drama

Chapter 9

For months I tried my best to ignore Harry Potter. My life seemed to revolve around the four-eyes these days. I vacillated between vehemence and infatuation, never fully separating the two emotions when I thought of him.

The worst part of it all? He never even seemed to notice. He was caught up in his own issues, I suppose. His idiotic friends were always causing him discomfort. I'm not sure how they didn't notice the extent of their problem-causing for Potter, but I sure noticed. All the time, they'd be arguing on and on about ridiculous and childish things, and there Potter would be, just sitting off to the side, looking distracted.

But then again, what did I care? It's not as though he wanted my friendship.

Okay, okay, I know that _I'm_ the one who instigated it, but he didn't care at all when we stopped… stopped whatever it was we were after summer ended.

I felt rejected… again.

I didn't deserve that.

So, when I saw him walking down the corridor with that arse Weasel, I snapped.

I had to prove myself.

So I whipped out my wand and pointed it straight at Harry Potter's chest.

A flurry of emotions passed over his attractive features: confusion, pain, alarm, and finally, volatility.

He pulled out his wand and leveled it with my own. "What do you want, _Malfoy_?" he spat my name with disdain.

"To see you in pain!" I shouted, then called out my hex, "Everte statum!"

He yelled, "Protego," at the same time, however, and was defended against my spell.

I continued on in my fury, "Stupefy!"

"Protego," again.

Why wasn't he attacking me back? "Furnunculus!" I screamed.

But he countered just before I finished my hex, "Expelliarmus!"

My wand flew from my hand right into Filch's dirty one. I paid no attention to the caretaker, though. My eyes were for Potter alone. I glared as I heard him whisper to Ron, "Go on back to the common room. I'll meet you later."

"Duelling in the corridors!?" Filch enquired, a dangerous tone to his voice. "I should have the both of you expelled!" I rolled my eyes as he started limping his way to his office. He turned back to us – we were still standing in the same positions, glowering at one another – and he snapped, "You'll follow me now!"

We begrudgingly followed the decrepit caretaker down the corridors. I burned a hole in the back of Potter's head with my angry stare during the entire walk.

Once we reached Filch's office, he looked through some papers on his desk. He seemed to be finding the best form of punishment for us.

"Right then," he muttered grumpily, "You two will meet me in the trophy room tomorrow evening immediately after dinner ends." His malicious little eyes flickered between the two of us. "Get out!"

I shoved the boy out of my way upon exiting the office. It was pathetic, but I wanted any sort of contact with Potter; and even if that was the only kind I could get, I decided to take it.

"What's your problem, Malfoy?" he muttered at me. He looked honestly perplexed.

"You," was all I had to say. I did an about-face and strutted down the corridor, heading toward the Slytherin dungeons. I had a thing for dramatic entrances and exits. I always had been that way.

What can I say? I was a fairy and I was obsessed with my long-time enemy (who had recently become my knight in shining armor, unfortunate as that may be). It warranted a bit of venting – a smidgen of drama. And how else was I to demonstrate my distaste toward him?

* * *

As promised, I've posted this only a few days after the last chapter.

And within a couple of weeks, I will be on summer break! Hopefully I can spend a lot of time writing when that comes. Yay!

Oh, and I'm very sorry that this was so short, but I swear that the next chapter is longer and more… interesting. Mwahahaha.

But yeah, I remember when I wrote these last two chapters (eight and nine) I felt bad at their length and… boringness, but really, they are necessary for the story. You guys do want a little plot with the fluff and smut, yeah? Hopefully?

Thank you for reading!


	10. Lost

Chapter 10

Malfoy sent me dozens of glares throughout the day. I guess he wanted to make his hatred of me obvious. The whole thing confused me, really. Sometimes I believed that I must have imagined the portion of the summer that I thought I spent with him. Draco Malfoy couldn't have been the same boy that I had been halfway friends with merely months ago.

I honestly had no idea what had changed. I spent good amount of time trying to figure out what I had done to offend him, but I never came up with any real answer.

After we went our separate ways, we hadn't been friendly with one another at all. At first, we kept a distance, carefully ignoring each other. Then, slowly, he began to hate me. At first it was just a few snide comments - rather typical of Malfoy really. But then it grew into bullying that was much more biting, personal, and vengeful than it had ever been before.

And, well, I hated to admit it, but it hurt more than it ever did before as well. It wasn't because he had grown more aggressive with his taunts and attacks.

No, it was because it was a friend who was attacking me. I made sure not to show that his recent rise in abuse affected me any more than normal, but deep down, I hated every second of it.

All that trouble, all those issues caused the hours to move by at a sluggish pace during that day of our first detention. We would have to clean the trophy room together that night; and we wouldn't have anyone else around to answer to. Maybe he would finally just tell me what it was he was so angry about and I could fix this mess.

Even if we didn't go back to being friends, it would be nice to have him off my back. I felt isolated already with Ron and Hermione's constant bickering. Typically, if they were angry at one another, they'd just keep a distance until coming to a resolution. This year was different though. Ignoring each other I could handle. But their constant arguing was driving _me_ insane.

So as they bickered all day long, I wondered how my detention that night would go.

Finally, after all my hours of waiting for time to move by, it did. It was supper time in the Great Hall.

And Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be found.

It wasn't my problem, but it still made me a little nervous. Would he miss our detention? Was he skipping out on it?

I finished my plate and made my way to the trophy room.

When I got there I found both Filch and Malfoy waiting for me, both looking highly agitated. I wondered why Malfoy had skipped dinner.

Filch interrupted my thoughts, "I will have you take turns each night. One of you will do manual labor while the other will write lines."

I immediately said, "Manual labor then," while Malfoy simultaneously commanded, "I will write lines."

Filch grinned, "Potter with the quill and Malfoy with the rag. I will be back in two hours to check your progress. Same jobs tomorrow night," he limped away seeming pleased with himself.

Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't say anything to me, even after Filch had gone. He took the rag in his hand (rather daintily, I have to say), and began his work.

In this situation, I felt awkward at the idea of trying to ask him why he hated me. So instead of making conversation, I too went straight to work.

I grabbed the quill left out for me and started copying the line that Filch had written at the top of the parchment, 'Dueling in the hall is forbidden and punishable by death.' I chuckled at the exaggeration.

Malfoy glanced over at me with an inquisitive look on his face. I read the line aloud so he would know why I laughed. He didn't answer me in any way, but I think I heard him mumble, "Such hyperbole."

He continued working silently, but every so often, I felt his eyes on me.

I had lost count of the time and the number of lines I had written when I felt myself toppling over.

Malfoy had lunged on me from the right side of my body and we tumbled to the ground in a heap of robes, limbs, and chair.

He pinned me down by my arms. I glowered furiously into his silver-blue eyes, but I didn't move him off me.

"What the hell is with you?" I shouted into his face.

He didn't move a muscle; he only continued staring down at me.

I sighed, frustration melting out of my body. "What do you want from me, Malfoy?" I heard the plea in my own voice.

He slowly inclined his head down toward mine. Our faces were merely inches apart. I could feel the heat from his breath across my face. His silvery orbs were focused on my face.

He leaned in the extra couple of inches and pressed his mouth onto mine.

I was lost. I wanted to be lost.

At first his lips pressed gently, seeking some sort of affirmation. I quickly complied. In response, his tongue danced across my lips. I gladly parted my mouth and he moved his tongue against mine. He tasted wonderful: he was sweet, like cream and strawberries. I breathed in his scent as my tongue dueled with his. It was intoxicating.

So intoxicating that I hadn't even noticed my body responding at first, but I quickly realised that my erection was uncomfortably constrained against my trousers. I didn't mind though: I was too drunk on Malfoy to care. Until I heard someone limping down the corridor.

I forced my arms out from underneath his hands – he had still been holding me down. I pushed his shoulders up in alarm and jumped to my feet.

As soon as I righted the chair, I heard the door creak open. Luckily, when I turned around, Malfoy had once again positioned himself as though he had been working. He looked remarkably composed. Aside from the slight tinge of pink in his cheeks, I wouldn't have noticed any difference between how he looked then from how he had looked half an hour prior. I was certain that I didn't look half as collected as he did. I could still feel a ghost of the warmth of his lips on mine. My robes were a mess and my hair even more ruffled than usual. Luckily again, Filch didn't seem to notice.

All he said was, "I'll see you boys again tomorrow night at the same time. Don't be late."

I avoided Malfoy's eyes and hurried out of the trophy room. I felt ashamed at my lack of Gryffindor bravery as I lumbered up to the common room. But really, I didn't know how else to act. Draco Malfoy had kissed me, and I… I enjoyed every second of it.

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There is absolutely no excuse for my tardiness in posting this chapter… so I won't attempt to give one.

Hope you enjoyed it anyhow!


	11. Permission to Continue

Chapter 11

I really hated Harry Potter.

He was definitely the bane of my existence.

I finally worked up the nerve to kiss him and, of course, what happened? He ran off like a little girl. He seemed to be enjoying it at the time (a fact I thoroughly relished, by the way). But then what? Nothing! He just ignored me, once again, and ran off to Gryffindork tower.

Maybe he just didn't know he was gay yet.

Alright, I know it was a bit stuck-up of me to assume that _I_ knew that he was gay while he was still in the dark. The dark closet, that is – ha! Well, how could he not have been bent? Really, he had never shown much interest in any girls.

There was that Cho bitch, but hey, I was gay and even I had to admit that she was slightly attractive. Not half as attractive as I was, of course, but I could see some small appeal to her. But from what I had heard, even when he did get the opportunity to hook up with the moron, he didn't follow through. Definitely queer, that boy.

But even without all that speculation, I knew he at least felt some attraction to me, because I had _felt_ that attraction. Against my leg.

I must admit, I was quite pleased with myself. I had not expected my kiss to go over well with the boy. It had taken me the entire detention to finally summon the courage to do it. I wished that I had gained that courage earlier since he seemed to be going along with my desires and it would have been nice to continue without Filch's interruption.

But he had enjoyed it… right?

Well, the next day, I sure as hell didn't get that impression. He didn't glance my way once. All day. He kept his head down whenever possible, and even when he had to look up, he constantly averted his eyes from mine.

Was he ashamed? It was hard to tell what was going on in that idiotic head of his without having any access to his eyes and having only very limited access to his face. Even when I did catch a glance of his face it had little expression in it. It seemed impassive, bored even. He was pulling off a very good Malfoy indifference, to my dismay.

Only I had the right to feign indifference at the world around me.

By the time supper was served in the Great Hall, I was decidedly exasperated. I tried one last time to get a look at Potter, and unexpectedly, I got that look. His shockingly green eyes were staring, unabashed, right at me. It was uncomfortable. His gaze was so intent; it felt as though he was looking right into my core, my soul.

Then he looked away. As though nothing had happened, he went back to socializing with his friends.

I was done with this. I was finished with the nuisance that was Harry Potter. So I put down my fork, walked out of the Great Hall, and resigned myself to hours of ignoring Potter in our detention in the trophy room.

I was so caught up in my thoughts of hating Potter, I didn't even notice when I knocked into the Weaselette.

"Watch it!" I hissed at her.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," she shot back.

I glanced around and realised that it was only the two of us in the corridor. I also realised that this corridor was neither near the Great Hall, nor her own common room.

"Are you following me, little Weasel?" I mocked her with a tone of artificial politeness.

"And why would I ever want to do that?" she shot back, sounding disgusted.

It didn't go unnoticed that she hadn't answered my question.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but you aren't my type," I informed her.

She just sneered and walked away. I distinctly disliked that girl, I then concluded.

The rest of my walk to the trophy room was, thankfully, unremarkable. Neither Filch nor Potter were there when I arrived, but I didn't feel like loitering around, so when I noticed the rag still left out on the desk with Potter's lines, I started polishing trophies yet again.

When Potter arrived a few minutes later, he quietly asked, "Filch here yet?"

I simply answered, "No," and went back to my scrubbing.

Minute after minute ticked by and I – I was quite proud of myself about this, mind you – didn't look at Potter once. I kept my back to him and focused entirely on my work.

Due to this, I hadn't noticed when Potter was right behind me. He pushed my shoulder, and when I turned to see what had happened, he threw me against the trophy wall that I had been polishing moments before.

He didn't give me time to react: before I could register what was happening, his lips crashed onto mine. It definitely wasn't a sweet kiss. It was slightly violent, in fact. I was surprised at the Gryffindor, but didn't mind. I was in heaven either way; feeling his body against mine – of his own accord – was nirvana. I felt his hips grind into mine while he deepened our kiss.

I moved my hands down his abdomen and he whimpered into my mouth. He started nipping at my lips. It almost felt like a rebellious act.

I wasn't thinking enough to sort any of it out though. I _couldn't_ think; all I could do was feel… and that I did!

I ran my fingers below his navel, then down, around his thigh, avoiding his crotch the entire time. He bucked against me in frustration. I loved being in control and I found that I _especially_ loved being in control of Potter's body.

Don't get me wrong: I quite enjoyed his little display of dominance. But I wanted to take things into my own hands… literally.

I kissed my way down his jaw, then nibbled his earlobe. The slight moan I heard urged me on. I moved my lips to his neck and found a very tender spot on him.

He let out a loud, "Nng," as I kissed, licked, and bit where his neck met his shoulder.

I was becoming increasingly aroused, but contrary to my usual, selfish style, I kept my attentions on him.

I moved my hand underneath his shirt and gently ran my fingers over his stomach.

Before reaching his trousers, I looked up to his eyes to ensure that I had his permission to continue. I was surprised at myself. Since when did I ask anyone permission for anything? But, for some reason, I first had to see that he wanted me to go on.

He looked up at me from under his eyelids. His eyes shone with intensity and it startled me a bit. But I collected myself after realising that I was immobile, staring into Potter's eyes; and after seeing that he didn't want me to stop, I slowly unbuttoned his pants.

I ran my finger down the length of his shaft, teasing him with my light touches. He bit down into my shoulder, urging me on. I began gently, wanting to make him beg for more; but I got caught up in his moaning and then _I _was the one wanting more. So I moved my hand harder and faster over him.

I kneeled down in front of him – his eyes widened with his shock – and I took him into my mouth.

It sent him over the edge. He growled, "_Ohh_!" as I ran my tongue over his head.

It was a good thing that I was experienced with this, because Potter bucked himself deeper into my throat when he came. A less skillful lover would have choked, but I managed quite well.

After I licked his shaft clean of seed, I glanced up to find Potter looking quite ruffled and sexy. His breathing was still evening out.

But I was not even close to done with him. I wanted to strip off all his clothes, bend him over the desk, and –

And I heard someone outside the trophy room, someone who was walking toward us, someone who sounded suspiciously like Filch grumbling to his horrid cat, Mrs. Norris.

I stood and Potter's gaze met mine. He looked mortified.

He was obviously not acquainted with these sorts of situations, and had I not been worried about Filch myself, I would have felt quite pleased at his general lack of experience. To be perfectly honest, my enjoyment of Potter's innocence was downright sinful.

But I had to think quickly. Filch was about five seconds away from discovering Potter's body pressed flesh against mine. We didn't have enough time to make it look as though we had been working or even ignoring each other: our faces were flushed, our clothes askew, and our work had been ignored for quite a bit of time by that point.

So I had to come up with something right away. I yanked his pants up while demanding, "Potter, hit me."

"No!" he looked scandalized.

"Do it, you git!"

"I'm not going to hit you, Malfoy…"

"For fuck's sake!" I hissed at him, then did one of the hardest things a man can do: I balled my left fist, pulled back, and punched myself in the eye.

Potter's face sported a dumbfounded expression. I mused on how adorable it looked right before I pulled back my right fist, said, "I'm really sorry about this, Potter," and hit him square in his jaw.

Filch walked in right as I punched Potter in the face, and, while I can say it wasn't the best plan I'd ever concocted, at least I accomplished what I needed: no one would discover that I had just blown Potter when I was supposed to be scrubbing trophies.

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Kind of cute?

Anyway, I felt bad for my extremely long delay in putting the last chapter up, so I figured I could maybe make up for that by putting this chapter up quickly.

Love you guys!


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